The announcer comes out with a cordless microphone, hyping everyone up even more. He gets us singing along with a song the DJ is playing. Every time it gets to a certain part, the DJ mutes the music and all our voices can be heard singing at the top of our lungs. Asher and Tye stand up and join in, and we are singing and dancing together, and it is so loud, so hot, so crowded, so much like it used to be with Imani, my cousin-sister-friend.
Once the tournament starts, all eyes are on the court. I feel like I am at a magic show, except the illusions are Black boys flying through the air, all of them wielding their very own superpower.
By the end of the game, I am hoarse from all the singing and cheering. The sun is long gone, but the mood is still celebratory. As we walk back to the train, Imani says, “This has been the highlight of summer so far.”
Tye nods. “Agree.”
There are so many people needing to get on the subway heading downtown that we have to let two trains pass before the four of us can fit. We get on the train, and it’s too crowded to find a seat, so Tye leans against one of the doors and I lean into him. He holds on to me as we wobble along the tracks. We don’t talk much as we ride until Tye says, “I don’t want this night to end.” In two more stops, it will be time for me to get off the train, but Tye asks me to stay on. “Don’t go home yet. Stay with me.”
“Stay? You mean, on the train?”
“Yeah, let’s just ride.”
When we get to my stop, Asher and Imani get up. “You coming?” Imani asks.
“I’ll be home later. I’m . . . we’re—we’re just going to ride the train downtown and come back.” I can tell she is surprised that I am not getting off. Usually Imani is the one staying out late, cuddled up with Asher. She smiles at me and gives me a look as if she’s telling me be-careful-have-fun-don’t-stay-out-too-late all at once. A group of people leave the train at the same time as Imani and Asher, so now there are more seats.
I sit at the window, and Tye scoots in next to me. The car is mostly empty now. I lean my head onto his shoulder. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” I say.
Tye takes my hand. He thinks for a moment, clears his throat, and says, “When my mom and dad would argue, sometimes I’d leave the house and just ride the train. I’d go all the way to the end of the line, then get up, cross over to the uptown side, and ride it back home. It was a way to clear my head. I’d do it to escape. I would just want the fighting to end. It’s, uh, it feels good to do this with you for a different reason.”
The train jerks to a stop. People get on, get off.
Tye says, “Your turn. Tell me something about you that I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how insecure I really am.” This might be the most honest thing I’ve ever said to Tye. It just comes out. Maybe because we are underground, in a tunnel, under a bustling city. Maybe because the train is half-empty and no one is paying attention to us. Maybe because I need him to know me, the real me.
Tye shifts his body and faces me. “What do you have to be insecure about? You’re beauti—”
“Please don’t say beautiful.”
“But you are.”
“I know.”
Tye laughs, and I give in to a laugh too.
“I’m serious, though. People always think the only thing big girls cry about is our weight. I’m perfectly fine with my body.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t,” I tell him. “Thanks for apologizing.” I kiss him on his cheek. “I don’t mind you telling me I’m beautiful. Just tell me because you see it, not because you think I don’t know.”
“Got it,” Tye says. And then, “Nala?”
“Yes?”
“You’re beautiful.” He kisses my cheek. “You’re beautiful.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re beautiful.” He kisses my lips.
The whole way downtown we go back and forth asking each other, “Tell me something that I don’t know about you.”
I tell Tye, “Okay, here’s something nobody knows. Like nobody. You have to promise me you won’t say anything.”
“Promise.”
“I don’t think I want to go to college. At least, not right away. I have no idea what I want to study, what I want to be.”
“That’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be,” Tye says. “You had me thinking you were about to confess a murder or something.”
“Well, it’s a big deal in my family. The Robertsons are a go-to-college kind of family. And with me being so close in age to Imani, there’s even more pressure. Imani has known what she wants to be since we were little girls. A lawyer. She’s always talking about how her dream is to work for the Equal Justice Initiative. She’s obsessed with what Bryan Stevenson does and wants to be a part of that. And she’s going to have 3.5 million things to put on her résumé for college applications because she’s been volunteering since we were in middle school. Her and Asher are probably getting married one day. They’re going to be that couple that’s eighty and talking about how they were high school sweethearts,” I say. “It’s like her whole life is figured out and I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow.”
Tye sounds real serious when he says, “Okay—two things. First, tomorrow you and I are hanging out again, of course. So, um, yeah, you do know what you’re doing tomorrow.”
“I’m serious, Tye,” I say, even with a laugh spilling out of me.
“I know, I know. Okay, for real, though, I thought you’ve been working on your essay and narrowing down schools.”
I forgot I told him that. “Well, yes, I am, but it’s because I have to, not because I want to. And, again, I’m just saying I don’t want to do the big four-year-university thing. I know I need to go to college. But I don’t know what I want to study and my mom doesn’t have the kind of money for college tuition, I think—”
“So wait. Is it about money? Don’t you get good grades? And with all your volunteering, you should get some scholarships for sure.”
“It’s not only about scholarships. I don’t think it’s the best next step for me.”
“So when are you going to tell your family?”
“I’m not. I’m going to do what’s expected of me. Especially if Imani—”
“You know, you compare yourself to Imani a lot. And I get it, she’s great—but so are you. Why don’t you just want to be yourself?” His question punches me in my gut, knocks the wind out of me.
“I—what do you mean? What makes you ask me that?”
“I mean, it sounds like you are trying to be like Imani, to want what she wants, but what do you want? Who do you want to be?”
He isn’t asking for an answer. It is the kind of question to contemplate, to really think about and consider. I guess when you feel like you’re not good enough, the next best thing is trying to be like someone else.
Tye changes the subject, and round and round we go, playing our game of questions the whole ride downtown, taking turns saying, Tell me something about you that I don’t know.